Party Foul
by BewarePandas
Summary: You don't generally think things through once alcohol is involved.


DISCLAIMER: No Glees for me, I can only wish I was as ingenius as Ryan, Brad or Ian!

A/N: So The_Minsk convinced me to post this, the horror unleashed following is entirely her fault, and I couldn't possibly love her more for it. 3 This is the result of a combination of being a stoner, an alcoholic, and an insomniac with nothing better to do at 4am, I'm told that my drug-addled mind is good though, so enjoy! :-)

**Party Foul**

She crawls into bed, smelling of shampoo and still wet hair. Immediately there's a familiar weight on her back, and Santana feels that comfortable twitch in the back of her neck; it comes and goes just as fast. Brittany really should go home, but another sleepover wouldn't be a surprise for any of the parties involved in the decision, so Santana doesn't worry. Her parents never asked questions, just like the rest, and everyone was happier for it.

It wasn't even that Santana was just that horny that they were having sex every night, although B was a huge fan. They usually tired Santana out after Cheerio practice. Between that and getting laid all afternoon, she was way too tired to do anything but sleep all night.

Most nights Brittany just simply forgot to go home, but it's not like anyone thought she was lost.

After winning regionals finally, the glee club thought it would be fun to have a little party to celebrate. Berry's gay dads were oddly absent, but Santana still couldn't figure out how she had wound up trashed, and curled up on Rachel's couch with Brittany. She could vaguely pick out other people, Rachel and Finn sitting together all cutesy in a lazyboy with mom and dad expressions, which ugh, would have made Santana puke if she could have done it without hitting Britt. She could make out the hunched over and unmoving form of Tina, and the barely moving Mike next to her (Guess Asians can't handle alcohol, who knew?). There's a couple other gleeks less noteworthy and not worth Santana's time, but she does note Quinn and Bieberboy are missing, and that Puck is making nasty faces at her right now.

A plastic cup half full of beer is promptly thrown at his head, followed by a cry of "not on my fathers' new fake-fur rug. Fake obviously bec-" as Santana and the entire room tunes back to drunken stupor.

"Yeah Rach, aren't you pro-gay rights? Santana had a right to defend herself!" And the room freezes. "Pro-hay, like feeding horses hay?" But still no one moves. There's fear in eyes though, clear as Santana looks around the room, slowly, calculating, before resting on Kurt.

He's having a heart attack, and if he's not it's close, so she let's him sweat for a bit, just watching him. In an instant, she's up and across the room, with Kurt knocked out of his chair and pinned to the ground. In the sweetest voice she can muster, she breathes "What was that?" Before smiling disarmingly.

He's afraid for his life at this point, and Santana really enjoys that fact, even though the alcohol blurs her thoughts more then she realized. "Are you jealous of how hot Britts and I are together Hummel? You can only dream of what we've got Frank'n'furter." She thinks it's a fantastic point at the time, but in hindsight it possibly wasn't so much.

The whole room, the conscious and coincidentally the most judgmental ones anyways, stare. Some with jaws open, and two with silly grins on their faces. "So you two are actually together?"

And it's out. Just like that. Santana's deepest secret is out, with Brittany just looking on in confusion, or possibly glee. She had kind of planned that Britt would be the one to leak it, it was bound to happen eventually, after it became schoolwide knowledge that they got freaky together. But it was Santana who blew it and there was no contingency plan for this.

She couldn't take it back, they wouldn't believe her. and the off-chance but important risk of Brittany figuring out even part of what was being discussed. At this point, as adrenaline continued to give way to sobering fear, Santana realized just what she had done, tackling and all. So what could she do now? The same thing she did in every scenario, wing it with bitchiness. "Are you jealous too manhands, Finnypoo not doing it for you?" Followed by a stage exit, with Brittany beside her; pinkies linked.


End file.
